


Edge of the Known World

by voleuse



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>One dose of aphrodisiac and you return to your grim work</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of the Known World

**Author's Note:**

> Set during S7. Title and summary adapted from Rafael Campo's _Oysters_.

Faith leaned back against the door, feeling the lever depress not quite far enough to trigger the emergency exit alarm. Some emo tween wannabe band was twisting on the stage, and she wondered, exactly, what she had done to deserve chaperone duty at Sunnydale High's latest and greatest attempt to ignore its rising rate of attrition.

But Dawn looked happy as she danced with those kids, Kit and Carlos, and maybe Faith didn't entirely mind being here after all, booze-free punch or no. Faith took another sip from her tacky plastic cup and decided that, happy Dawn or no, next time she'd beat B when they played rock-paper-scissors on killing things versus being nice to teenagers.

"Buffy goes for rock first," Willow said, and Faith jerked forward, the punch sloshing in her cup. "I'm guessing it's a Slayer thing?"

Faith handed Willow her fruit punch. "God, please tell me the world is ending."

"There's a troll in the parking lot," Willow replied. "I'm casting a protection spell over Spring Fling."

"Sweet." Faith cracked her knuckles. "Weapons?"

Willow hitched her thumb towards the other exit. "Anya's waiting."

"Best dance ever," Faith proclaimed, and Willow laughed.

*

Three cracked windshields, one pair of ripped jeans, and a shattered staff later, Faith found herself riding shotgun in a Mustang while Anya drove to the river, blaming her sharp turns on the added ballast of two thirds of a troll stuffed into the trunk.

Faith rolled her shoulders, half-wincing at her re-located right shoulder. Anya glanced over at her. "Do you need to go to a hospital or something?" Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as she steered around a curve. "Because I keep telling Buffy she should consider filing as a small business. The savings on insurance would be worth the paperwork."

"A business?" Faith snorted. "Like 'Slayers Incorporated' or something?"

"That might be too aggressive," Anya mused. "We could see if Angel Investigations could be transferred. Or it could be a franchise, like Dairy Queen."

Faith blinked, and then they were turning onto a gravel road. A tree root scraped the bottom of the car, and Anya flinched.

"Whose car is this, anyway?" Faith asked.

Anya shrugged.

*

Anya hopped onto the hood of the Mustang in a surprisingly fluid movement. Faith grinned at her in the quarter-moon's light. "What, you're taking a break?"

"_We're_ taking a break," Anya replied. She pulled a flask from her jacket pocket and waggled it at Faith. "I found this in the glove compartment."

"Hell yeah," Faith said. She settled next to Anya, taking the proffered first drink. The booze was cheap and harsh, burning just right. "You had some nice moves back there."

"Trolls are easy," Anya replied. She took a delicate sip from the flask, then a longer one. "I dated one during the Boer War, and you wouldn't believe how sensitive his thumbs were."

"Yeah?" Faith tipped her head back as she drank. Yards behind them, a motorcycle buzzed past, the engine's whine melding with the cricketsong.

"It was a family trait, which explained why most of them died out during the Inquisition," Anya continued. "Twist hard enough, and they drop like passenger pigeons."

"Good to know." Faith handed the flask back to Anya. Their hands brushed, and Anya looked at her, and then Anya kissed her. Her lips were a little dry, and her mouth tasted like Irish coffee. Faith pressed forward, her right hand sliding over warm metal and scratched paint.

Anya hummed, pulling away. "They are remarkably good with their tongues, though." She had two rings on her thumb; they made a small clinking sound as she scooted closer. "His cousin, Rainilda, showed me this thing where she could--"

"I think," Faith said, hooking her fingers inside Anya's jacket, "I can figure it out."

Anya nodded, and another kiss left her breathless. "We still have that corpse in the trunk," she panted, finally.

"It can wait," Faith muttered, and the glass of the windshield was cool as Anya pressed her back.


End file.
